


home, love, family

by bloodredpomegranate



Series: Spirk Anastasia AU [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Anastasia AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Inspired by Anastasia (1997 & Broadway), Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Starvation, Tarsus IV, as in they meet as kids/teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25318243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodredpomegranate/pseuds/bloodredpomegranate
Summary: “Listen, you don’t remember anything, right?” Kirk’s voice was somehow persuasive, curious, and resigned all at once.“Affirmative," Spock replied. "I have very few memories of my past.”“Exactly. You don’t know what happened to you. No one knows what happened to him.” Kirk shrugged. “Who’s to say you’re not the lost son of Sarek and Amanda Grayson? If you’re not, T’Pau will certainly know right away, and it’ll all just be an honest mistake.” Kirk held eye contact with Spock and took a step forward. “But if you are him, you’ll finally know who you are. You’ll have your family back.” He stared at Spock for another moment, then took a breath and gave a charming smile. “Either way, it gets you to Vulcan and it gets us off Earth. Everybody wins.”
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Spirk Anastasia AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833847
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	1. Spock

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [We Will Meet Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035625) by [Darksknight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksknight/pseuds/Darksknight). 
  * Inspired by [Things my heart used to know](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14089308) by [spock (oscarisaac)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oscarisaac/pseuds/spock). 



> This Anastasia AU was inspired by art by Tumblr user @neetols. @spock (oscarisaac) on here started a fic in coordination with them, but I got permission to write my own take! This is most heavily influenced by the Broadway musical, as I am moderately obsessed with it, but there are elements from the original movie. You don't need to have watched either of those to read this, though : ) Thank you to my lovely friend and amazing beta @Sunflower_Meadows!

“Why must I go, grandmother?” Spock asked. The last rays of the setting sun spilled through his window, illuminating the figure perched on the edge of his bed.

“It is thy mother’s wish that thou accompany her on her journey.” T’Pau’s voice was stern and unyielding. To anyone else, she might have been intimidating. Spock, however, could feel the current of affection running through their bond. He frowned.

“Will you not also accompany us?” T’Pau shook her head. Amanda, Spock’s mother, had announced two weeks and four days prior that they would be making the trip to the distant Terran colony of Tarsus IV to visit her family, but T’Pau had declined the offer to go with them. Instead, Spock, his parents, and his siblings would be departing the following morning. 

“Thou will be with thy sister and thy brother,” T’Pau said by way of explanation. Spock wrinkled his nose. He got along with his siblings well enough, but they were difficult to talk to at times. Sybok was older than him, almost a teenager, and he had deemed Spock’s five-year-old queries unworthy of his attention. Michael was better; she, too, was older, but she seemed to like conversing with Spock, at the very least. “And wherever thou goest, I will always be with thee in thy thoughts,” T’Pau continued.

Spock paused, his brain catching on a thought he’d had multiple times in the past few months. He hesitated, then said, “Even if I choose to leave Vulcan?” T’Pau arched an elegant eyebrow in question, though her gaze held no surprise. 

“What does thou mean?”

“I am of course keeping all options open,” Spock hurried to reassure her, “but…” He paused once more, then took a deep breath. “I am considering not joining the Vulcan Science Academy when I have finished my schooling at the Vulcan Learning Center,” he rushed out in one exhale. He added quietly, “It is possible that I will even leave Vulcan entirely.” 

T’Pau smiled, then, the smallest curving of her lips. Such a display of emotion was rare from her, but the gesture reassured Spock monumentally. “I will support thy decision, whatever it may be,” she said. “But Spock, be certain thou are going somewhere, and not simply running away.” 

Spock furrowed his brow in confusion. “I am afraid I do not comprehend the difference you are attempting to identify.”

“If thou goes somewhere and it is not the right place, thou can always go somewhere else,” T’Pau explained. “But Spock, I see the way thy peers treat thee. If thou are running away, nowhere will ever be the right place.” 

Spock thought about this. It was true that his Vulcan classmates often mocked him for his Human heritage, attempting to provoke an emotional response from him. He would be lying if he said he did not occasionally fantasize about leaving for a place free of their ridicule; however, T’Pau had a point. If he ran away, their comments would always follow him. He might be free in body, but he would never be free in mind. He nodded.

“I understand, grandmother.”

“Very good. Now, I have a gift for thee, to remember me by while thou are away.” Spock looked at her critically. 

“That is illogical, as I have perfect recall and am in no danger of forgetting you over the course of my voyage.”

T’Pau raised an eyebrow. “If thou does not desire it…” She trailed off, a gleam in her eye.

“No! I mean…” Spock coughed lightly, trying to cover up his exclamation. “I would like to see what it is.” T’Pau gave him a knowing look and pulled a small circular object from the folds of her robes. Gently, she handed it to Spock. 

“It is a music box,” she said. “Open it.” He did. A few notes drifted from the box, forming a familiar tune. 

“This is our song,” he murmured reverentially. His mind flashed back to long evenings spent practicing the Vulcan lyre, mastering a melody while T’Pau sang along. She nodded her head.

“Indeed. Thou will always think of me fondly when thou listens to it.” Spock closed the lid gently and placed the music box on his bedside table.

“Thank you, grandmother,” he said earnestly. T’Pau gave him another of her rare smiles. Before she could respond, there came a knock from the door. 

In the doorway stood Spock’s parents. Amanda smiled and let her hand fall from the door frame as Sarek strode into the room. 

“Spock, have you said your goodbyes?” he asked brusquely. “As you know, we will be departing in the morning.”

“Yes, Father.” Spock dipped his head in deference as Sarek’s gaze swept over him and landed on the music box.

“What is this?” he asked sharply. T’Pau lifted her chin.

“A music box, so the child will remember me,” she replied. Sarek’s lip curled.

“Sentimentality is illogical,” he sniffed. He looked like he wanted to say more, but Amanda placed her hand on his arm.

“I think it’s lovely,” she said softly, “don’t you, husband?” Though her tone was quiet, there was something sharp underneath it, enforcing the warning in her eyes. Sarek nodded stiffly.

“Come, _ko-mekh_ ,” he said to T’Pau, “it is time for Spock to sleep.” T’Pau rose gracefully and shifted to face Spock, who looked up at her.

“ _Rom-halan_ , Spock.” _Farewell._ “I shall see thee in three weeks.”

“ _Rom-halan_ , grandmother.” With that, she turned and glided out of the room, robes swishing in her wake.

Sarek looked at the music box again and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, Amanda squeezed his arm and shook her head. His gaze narrowed, but he seemed to decide it wasn’t worth the argument. He nodded again, then bid Spock goodnight and followed his mother out the door. Amanda’s gaze followed him until he was gone, and she shook her head to herself. She settled into the spot T’Pau had previously occupied and stroked a hand over Spock’s hair. 

“Your music box is beautiful, darling,” she said. “Don’t pay your father any mind.” Spock leaned into her hand unconsciously, but his gaze stayed on the box. Doubts were circling in his mind. Sarek was correct; the gift was a product of sentimentality, which was seen as a weakness in the teachings of Surak. Vulcans were creatures of logic and rationality. He should have no use for a silly music box. Still… 

As if she could hear his thoughts, Amanda scooped up the music box and opened it. As the melody filled the room, she stood up and held out her arm. Spock looked at her questioningly. 

“Lady Amanda Grayson would request a dance of the fine gentleman before her,” she said formally, her head held high. Spock could see the twinkle in her eye and the smile that threatened to break through the facade. He stood as well.

“I am S’chn T’gai Spock, of the clan of Surak, and I accept your request.” He laid his arm above hers, on top but not quite touching. He was significantly shorter than Amanda, enough so that she had to lean over to one side as they walked to the center of the room. 

They raised their arms so their palms were facing each other, arms bent at a ninety degree angle at the elbow. Again, they were close but not touching. That was the essence of this and many other traditional Vulcan dances: the weaving of bodies around each other, brushing sleeves and robes but never coming into contact. Spock straightened his back and they began to dance. 

Amanda was a wonderful dancer, for a Human. Over the years she had mastered the intricacies of Vulcan dancing, making it appear as if she was holding her partner’s body when in fact they were mere millimeters apart. Spock loved watching his mother dance. She followed his father’s lead almost perfectly, reading his body language in lieu of taking her cues from physical gestures as was the custom on Earth. They seemed perfectly attuned to each other; it was truly a sight to see. 

Spock also loved dancing with Amanda. Though he was still learning, she managed to smooth over his missteps artfully enough that they looked completely intentional. She turned and twirled around Spock’s tiny frame, like a faerie around a tree, and patiently corrected his form if he ever made a mistake. In those instances, she would smile at him, and he found himself thinking that maybe being half-Human wasn’t so bad if it meant being like her. 

When they were done dancing, Spock settled into his bed thoroughly content. As Amanda pulled the covers up to his chin and kissed his forehead lightly, he let himself bask in the feeling. He heard Amanda quietly wish him goodnight and slip out the door, and Spock fell asleep that night with the ghost of a smile still gracing his face. 

* * *

Tarsus IV was beautiful. Its rolling yellow fields stretched on for miles, a contrast to the endless red sands of Vulcan. Spock was entranced; he spent the majority of his first day there staring out from the porch.

Amanda had three family members on Tarsus: her parents and her sister. Jonathan and Maria Grayson had moved to Tarsus IV when it first became a colony, Emma only joining them a few years ago when old age started getting the better of the elderly couple. The three of them lived together on a farm, which Amanda tried to visit every few years or so. 

Emma Grayson was not at all what Spock had expected. He would have thought her to be soft spoken and gentle, like her sister; instead, she was bright and exuberant. The moment Amanda had stepped off the shuttle, Emma had swept her into a hug and twirled her around as if they were little girls rather than middle-aged women. She proceeded to gush about the events that had transpired during their separation, while Amanda merely nodded and interjected occasionally. They seemed to be two sides of the same coin, different in disposition but made from the same material. Where Amanda was quiet smiles, Emma was loud laughter, but both contained a fiery sort of passion underneath. Spock thought they complemented each other well. 

Maria Grayson was, to use a Human turn of phrase, a bit of a mother hen. When Spock and his siblings filed through the door of the house, she immediately began cooing over them, much to their collective dismay. Even Michael, in spite of her Human heritage, had spent far too much time on Vulcan to be entirely comfortable with the pats on the head and the overly familiar questions. Spock himself wouldn’t by any means say he enjoyed being fussed over, but he did derive great satisfaction from Sybok’s face after Maria (“Please, call me Granny!”) had quite literally pinched his cheeks.

In contrast, Jonathan Grayson was a rather restrained man. He greeted Sarek with a bow and a mostly accurate _ta’al_ , introduced himself to the children, and kissed his daughter on the cheek. He took care not to touch any of the three Vulcans, and he did not seem to mind their clinical way of speaking or their stiff dispositions. Spock appreciated it; although Maria and Emma had good intentions, he found himself somewhat overwhelmed and alarmed whenever they patted his face or brushed against his arm. Jonathan’s respectful distance was quite refreshing. 

Spock also met the Graysons’ next door neighbors. Harold and Clara Lannover owned the farm adjacent to the Graysons’. They were close friends with Maria and Jonathan, and the two families had dinner together every week, alternating houses. The Lannovers had a daughter named Cori who was a few years older than Spock, and all three came over for dinner five days into their stay. 

Michael and Cori were fast friends. They were around the same age, and Michael’s Human background gave her a distinct advantage in the realm of making friends, in Spock’s opinion. Cori was fascinated by Michael’s tales of living on Vulcan, just as Michael was enraptured by Cori’s accounts of life on Tarsus. They quickly ensconced themselves in Michael and Spock’s shared guest room after dinner, presumably to continue interrogating each other. 

Spock assumed they would not appreciate his company, as they were three or four years his senior and would not want to interact with a mere child, even one with Spock’s intellect, so he graciously avoided the bedroom in favor of reading in the sitting room. He was pleasantly surprised, then, when the girls welcomed him into their discussion with open arms when he finally decided to intrude. Cori turned her questions on him as soon as he sat down, but he found he did not mind them quite as much as he could have. 

Cori was a curious individual, in all senses of the word. She asked questions unapologetically, but quickly rescinded them if she saw she was making Spock or Michael uncomfortable. She seemed to have no concept of the relative weight of some topics versus others; there was a gap in her smile where a tooth used to reside, and she told the story of losing it in the same breath that she talked about her mother’s recent brush with death falling from a ladder. She jumped from topic to topic with all the agility of a _le-matya_ pouncing on its prey, and Spock had to work to keep up with her racing thoughts. 

Still, they formed a sort of trio over the next few weeks, Spock and Michael and Cori. They invited Sybok to join them, but he seemed determined to lock himself in his room and interact with everyone as little as physically possible, so the three of them spent most of their time with each other. Every morning, like clockwork, they met at the fork where their driveways converged and planned, as Cori put it, their “shenanigans”. The trouble they caused was the sort that only two Human children approaching ten years old and a Vulcan child just past five could possibly get up to. Though he would never admit it out loud, those weeks were some of the best of Spock’s life. 

As all things must, though, their trip eventually came to an end. Three weeks later had their bags packed and a congregation gathered at the spaceport. Both the Graysons and the Lannovers had come to see them off, and the adults were now exchanging polite goodbyes. Spock and Michael bid farewell to Cori, promising to visit again, and with that they were off. 

The blissful sojourn on Tarsus IV had almost made Spock forget about the reality awaiting him on Vulcan. Next to the easy camaraderie he experienced there, the jeering taunts and insults hurled at Spock by his peers stung just that much more. 

“How was your trip, half-breed? Did you enjoy spending time with your _Human_ family?” The young Vulcan boy currently blocking Spock’s path of egress sneered at the mention of his maternal lineage, spitting out the word with disgust. He said it in the same way one would utter any number of unseemly words and phrases Amanda would be shocked to learn Spock knew. 

Spock stayed silent. He understood quite well that this boy and his cronies were attempting to elicit a reaction from him, and he refused to give them the satisfaction of doing so. He remained stoic and attempted to move past the three person blockade in front of him. They did not relent. 

“I presume you engaged in all manner of disgusting Human customs,” the boy on the left chimed in. “Tell us, they touch you? Did you meld with any of them?” It was clear from his voice that the mere thought of these things was abhorrent to him. The third boy gasped mockingly. 

“Did you…” he trailed off into a scandalised whisper, “— _hold hands_ with one of them?” 

Spock had had enough of this. “If you do not mind, I must be returning home,” he recited in an emotionless tone. The boys continued sneering as he shouldered past them, but Spock tuned them out. Despite his icy facade, he could feel the fiery anger boiling up inside of him, threatening to explode. 

By the time he reached his house, Spock had angry tears welling in his eyes. He stormed past the living room where Sarek and Amanda were sitting and headed straight to his room, slamming the door. He sat heavily on his bed and looked down, tears tracing paths down his cheeks. He wiped his nose with one sleeve. A moment later, he heard the door creak open. He didn’t look up.

“A troubling day at school?” Amanda asked. Spock nodded mutely as she sat down next to him. “Do you wish to tell me about it?” 

Spock shook his head and they sat in silence for a while. Finally, Spock sniffed. “Their taunts are designed to elicit an emotional response from me,” he said. “They believe that because I am partly Human, I cannot control my emotions in the same way true Vulcans can.” Amanda was silent for a moment. 

“I believe they’re right.” Spock looked at his mother, shocked. She continued before he could protest. “They are correct in saying that you do not control your emotions the same way Vulcans do. However, they are wrong in thinking of it as a disability. Your Human genetics give you an advantage.” Spock frowned and swiped at the tears under his eyes. 

“I do not understand, mother.”

“It is simple,” she said gently. “Vulcans feel things incredibly deeply. Their emotions are so intense that it is possible to be completely overcome by them.” Spock noted the way her choice of language excluded him. “Logic offers a reprieve. By training their minds rigorously, Vulcans are able to keep a tight rein on their emotions, but this means that none can fall through. They cannot let themselves feel anything.

“But you, Spock, you are part Human. I believe that gives you the ability to regulate your emotions instead of blocking them out entirely.” She stared solemnly into his eyes. Her hands gripped his elbows. “Do you understand?” she asked. “With practice, you could be able to choose how much you feel, and when, and where!” She rested a tender hand on his cheek, wiping away the last of his tears with her thumb. “Everyone on Vulcan sees your hybrid status as a flaw, but I think it makes you incredible.”

Spock marveled at her assertion. He tried to see it from her perspective, but he could not. He knew Amanda had good intentions, but she simply did not understand. It mattered not if he controlled his emotions, as his community would always see him as a dirty half-breed. The only way he would gain any sort of status would be by acting like a model Vulcan citizen. 

“But what if I choose not to feel?” he asked her. “Even if I were capable of regulating my feelings, I would still be regarded as inferior if I displayed such emotions.” He had been learning the teachings of Surak for years, and he found they overrode any theory Amanda had. She sighed. 

“If that is what you choose, I cannot stop you.” Her eyes were serious. “Just think over your opportunities, okay?” She tucked him in and kissed him on the forehead. “Goodnight, Spock. I love you.”

Spock hesitated, then replied, “And I, you, Mother.”

* * *

The sun was hot on Spock’s back as he wandered through the market. Next to him, Michael wore a light blue headscarf to protect herself from the heat. The scarf had been a gift from Amanda, who owned a matching green one, to celebrate her eighteenth birthday. Spock, his own fourteenth birthday rapidly approaching, had originally objected to the illogicality of celebrating the day of one’s birth. Ultimately, though, he had submitted to Amanda’s wishes and helped pick out the headscarf, which Michael had taken to wearing on all of her outings. 

Their trip had no official purpose. It was only Spock and Michael, exploring the markets of ShiKhar together. Michael had submitted her application to the Vulcan Science Academy yesterday, and her results would be announced tonight. Neither of them mentioned it, but unofficially, their venture was a distraction, as well as an attempt to make the most of their time left together. If Michael was accepted, Spock would likely not see her for a significant amount of time, so they were both trying to savor these last moments. 

They ate lunch at Michael’s favorite restaurant. It was a fusion restaurant, known for its unique blending of Andorian and Vulcan cuisine, and Michael had tried just about every item on the menu. Spock himself was partial to the _hari-plomeek_ soup, as it always brought with it a sense of nostalgia. During their meal, they discussed the logistics of the newest Vulcan starship. 

After lunch, Michael said, “There is somewhere I wish to show you.” She looped her hand around Spock’s wrist and led him through the midday crowd. Through their contact, Spock could feel the emotions warring in her. She was mostly content, but there was an undercurrent of anxiety, tinged with a bit of regret. Spock tried to send reassurances her way. 

They finally darted from the crowd into a small, unused alleyway. Michael slackened her grip but let her fingers stay where they were as she walked down the alley. Spock reveled in the brush of her thoughts against his, in the familiarity of their bond. Though humans were psy-null, Michael’s mind was still a comfort to him, even if she could not reach back. How Spock would miss this if she left for the VSA. Who else would allow him to simply exist near their headspace?

The alleyway emerged into an abandoned square that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. In the center of the square was a fountain, dry as the desert and intricately carved. The cobblestones surrounding it were dusty with sand. The entire area felt dormant, like it was waiting for something. It was beautiful. 

“I used to come here to think,” Michael said. She released Spock’s arm and settled on the edge of the fountain, patting the space next to her. Spock sat as well and let his gaze roam. “If my classmates were being cruel, or if I got into an argument with Father, this is where I would come.” 

“It seems a suitable place to be alone,” Spock agreed. Michael smiled. 

“This is the only place I let myself really feel,” she admitted. “I let myself be Human here.” 

Spock took this in. He was a little bit surprised; Michael tried incredibly hard to exemplify Vulcan characteristics, following logic along with the most dedicated Vulcans. Then again, he supposed it made sense that she would need some sort of outlet. Michael was just as targeted as Spock was, if not more so for her fully Human status. It was only logical that she would need to indulge her nature every once in a while and purge her emotions. Humans simply did not have the mental capability to compartmentalize to the extent that Vulcans could. 

As he thought about this, Spock found himself suddenly and irrationally wishing that he could have comforted Michael when she was troubled by her emotions. He understood what it was like to be ridiculed for being Human, and he certainly would have appreciated someone to help him deal with his own troubled mind. He mentally shook his head. It was illogical to dwell on the past. Still, he scooted closer to Michael, until their sides were pressed together and he could feel her breathing next to him. 

They sat in silence for many moments. Spock felt himself relax incrementally, slowly releasing the tension from his frame. This was a place where Michael could be Human, she had said. Perhaps here, Spock could be Human as well. He organized his thoughts, trying to figure out what to say, and finally settled on a question he had harbored for a long time. 

“What does love feel like?”

Michael arched an eyebrow, looking at once critical and understanding in that way that only siblings could. “Though you pretend to be,” she said, “I know you are not emotionless, little brother. You experience love just as much as I do.” She gave him a significant look. “Perhaps even more.” Spock barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. 

“I understand that; however, I wish to know what love feels like to a Human.” 

“Ah,” she said in understanding. Her gaze softened. “I see. Perhaps it would be easier if I showed you.” Michael extended her arm to him, pulling up her sleeve to expose her skin. An invitation. Spock gently laid his fingers on the underside of her wrist, just above her pulse. Immediately, he felt their bond flicker to life. 

“Love is soft,” Michael started thoughtfully. “Warm.” Spock felt that warmth creep up his arm and around his mind, enveloping him. In her memories, he saw Sarek having a discussion with Michael last week, and he felt her warmth, her love, for him that he had taken time out of his day for her. He felt Amanda kiss her goodnight, even though she was practically an adult, and he saw Michael and Sybok in an intense game of _kal-toh_ years ago. He saw Michael saving some of Spock’s favorite food to give to him later, and he felt her love for all of them, a steady presence in her mind. 

Through their bond, Spock could sense the feelings Michael was conveying change, transform. Where before there were gentle embers, now there were suddenly flames. “Love is also scary,” she continued. “It is all-encompassing. You know that you would do anything for the ones you love, and that thought is terrifying.” Spock understood exactly what she meant, could feel the absolute certainty love inspired in her to protect her family. 

“Love can also be desperate,” she said, and Spock felt it clawing at her mind. He felt Michael’s frustration and helplessness as she watched a group of Vulcan children taunt Spock, unable to do anything. He saw a young Michael curled up in a ball, listening to her parents dying and wanting desperately, more than anything, to be able to help them. 

“Love is like having a fire living inside of you,” she said, “just waiting to consume you. And the worst part is that sometimes you want it to.” Her emotions were now a flood, mixing and mingling with his own, and it was all Spock could do to separate their thoughts and try to keep calm. Finally, the torrent of emotions receded a bit, and Spock pried his fingers from Michael’s wrist. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, not quite sure when he had closed them. A look at Michael showed that her eyes were damp, and Spock was surprised to find a matching wetness on his own cheeks. Quickly, he wiped it away. 

“I am sorry,” Michael said shakily. “I did not mean to inflict that upon you. Having you in my mind seems to interfere with my control.” Spock went to touch her in reassurance, then thought better of it and placed his hand comfortingly on her thigh. She gave him a slightly watery smile. “Do you understand now, though? What love feels like to a Human?” Spock considered her question.

“I think,” he said, “that the way Humans love and the way Vulcans love is quite similar.” Michael chuckled. 

“You’re right. Of all the emotions, I believe that love must be the one that is most similar between us.” With that, she placed an arm around Spock and leaned up against his side. Spock exhaled and let his head fall onto her shoulder. 

* * *

Spock could not sleep. This was not inherently unusual, as Vulcans required relatively little rest; however, he had been attempting to meditate for the past 1.67 hours with minimal success. Precisely four hours and thirty-six minutes before the sun was set to rise, Spock resigned himself to his tumultuous thoughts and retrieved his lyre from its shelf. 

Music was something Spock had always found relaxing. Though he did not play as often as he used to, he still found himself picking up his instrument every so often when he was having trouble calming his mind. As Spock padded to Amanda’s garden outside, he already felt himself relaxing simply from the comforting weight of the lyre in his hands. 

Spock settled onto a stone bench at the edge of the garden, his fingers pulling a few wavering notes from the strings. He took a deep breath and tried to stop thinking, letting his muscle memory take over. His attention narrowed until he was only aware of the music. It was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist, including the thoughts racing through his head. He was halfway through an old Vulcan ballad he had learned close to two years ago when he was shaken from his reverie. 

Someone else had entered the garden. Spock didn’t pause in his playing and presently, a voice started to softly sing along. He recognized the voice after a moment and relaxed as T’Pau made her way over to him. She sat primly on the other end of his bench and looked out at the garden, singing all the while. Her voice was soothing, emanating from deep within her chest, and Spock found himself humming along with her. 

As the song finally wound to a close, Spock looked at T’Pau. She seemed content with letting the silence settle between them, so he remained quiet. Instead, he started playing a familiar tune, one that brought memories of his childhood to mind. 

Spock hadn’t played this song in a very long time, over five years at least. He had first learned it at four years of age, back when he was still mastering the Vulcan lyre. It was the first song he had ever managed to memorize and play all the way through, and he remembered running up to T’Pau to show it off to her. She had praised him and sang the words to it, and ever since then it had become something of an inside joke between them, enough so that she had immortalized the tune in a music box for him. Though much time had passed, Spock’s fingers still remembered the notes. 

T’Pau smiled when she heard the first chords. After the introductory bars, she joined his strumming in a voice tinged with nostalgia. The song was beautiful, telling a story of great misfortune and grand adventure and forbidden love. It was rather emotional, in Spock’s opinion, but music seemed to be the one area in which Vulcans let their emotions bleed through. 

Once their song ended, Spock let silence fall around them again. This time, he made no move to start playing again. T’Pau gazed out serenely, seeming for all the world as if it were completely normal to be singing in a garden in the early hours of the morning. She exuded a certain air of _waiting_. Finally, Spock broke the silence. 

“It is uncertain how long we will be gone,” he stated quietly. T’Pau continued to stare at the desert in front of her, but she bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement. 

“Indeed. I wish thine aunt a rapid recovery, both for her sake and for mine.” Spock made an inquisitive noise. T’Pau smiled sadly. “I have already lost two grandchildren to the ways of the world,” she said. “Thou are sixteen years of age, Spock, and will soon leave me as well. Do not blame an old woman for wanting to savor her time with thee.” 

What she said was true. Michael was at the Vulcan Science Academy, completing her studies in quantum physics. Sybok was exiled. Spock was the only one left.

“Have you seen Michael yet?” he asked. She had arrived only that afternoon, after securing permission from the VSA to be absent for a few weeks. Amanda had objected to her putting her life on hold, but Michael was very firm on her stance that family came first. Spock refused to be ashamed of the fact that he had hugged her very tightly when they met her transport at the station. 

“I have spoken with her,” T’Pau affirmed. “It is good that she is joining thee.” Spock nodded. This trip to Tarsus IV was to be a true family affair, just like the last one. For the first time in four years, they would all be together again. Spock hesitated. 

“We will also be meeting Sybok off-planet,” he said tentatively. He was still unsure quite how to discuss Sybok after his banishment, or if he should at all. Sarek had ceased all contact with him and refused to even hear his name in conversation. Amanda, on the other hand, called him often, despite the fact that they were not even related by blood. Spock was unsure what T’Pau’s views of Sybok were. “Father was very displeased, but Mother insisted he be allowed to accompany us if he so desired.” 

“I am glad she did,” T’Pau said, surprising Spock. “Sarek and Sybok must use this opportunity to reconcile.” Her voice held no trace of uncertainty; in the firmness of her words there seemed to form almost a command. They would not _try_ , they _would_. They must. T’Pau noticed his surprise and gave him a wry smile. “I was a revolutionary, too, once. Long ago.” This only served to shock him further. 

“You were?”

“Indeed.” T’Pau settled into what Spock often referred to as her “storytelling voice” in his head. “There were many who believed that Surak’s teachings had been misinterpreted. Almost a century ago, a Vulcan named Syrran came forward preaching what he said were the _true_ teachings of Surak. He amassed a large group of followers, including myself, who agreed that the Vulcan philosophy was corrupt and needed to change. 

“Syrran had many new ideas, but perhaps one of his most radical was the idea that we, as Vulcans, should embrace our emotions.” 

“That is very similar to Sybok’s mentality,” Spock observed. 

“Where does thou believe he got those ideas from?” 

Spock was startled by the implication. T’Pau was the matriarch of the clan of Surak, one of the most respected Vulcans on the planet and in the galaxy. To think that she had incited Sybok’s divergence from the Vulcan way was absurd. “But if we let our emotions overcome us, we are nothing more than barbarians, as we were centuries ago,” he argued. T’Pau actually chuckled at that. 

“That is what thou have always been taught, yes.” Her eyes held a gleam of mirth as she casually challenged everything Spock had known practically since birth in a single sentence. “But Syrran did not want our emotions to rule us. He simply objected to the practice of cutting them off entirely. He believed that Vulcans could find a balance between feelings and logic.” 

Spock processed this. The idea that he could harbor both logic and emotion at once was not foreign to him, but that such a concept could apply to all Vulcans was nominal. He had always thought his relationship with his feelings was an inherently Human trait, one often perceived as a flaw by other Vulcans. To think that perhaps they who scorned him could be capable of the same thing was both astounding and preposterous. No modern Vulcan would ever accept such a theory, and any that did would be subjecting themselves to public ridicule. Suddenly, Spock understood Sybok’s banishment a good deal more.

A thought occurred to Spock. “Why did you change your mind?” 

T’Pau looked affronted. “I did no such thing,” she said haughtily, before mellowing significantly. Her eyes became unbearably sad. “Thou must understand, we were a peaceful group. We protested the government, but never with violence. That did not stop us from being targeted.” She sighed heavily before continuing. “One day, I and my fellow rebels were massacred. I was one of the few who survived.” 

Spock did not know what to say. Quietly, he murmured, “ _Tushah nash-veh k’odu._ ” _I grieve with thee._ T’Pau nodded once.

“I thank thee.” 

Silence reigned for a few minutes as Spock mulled over their conversation. This was certainly not how he had expected his night to go, but surprisingly, his mind felt calmer than it had when he had left his bedroom. There was only one thing still bothering him. 

“If you still believe in Syrran’s philosophies,” Spock started, “then you will not think it illogical of me to say that I will miss you greatly.” He phrased it as a statement, but there was still doubt layered underneath his words. T’Pau placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I do not think it illogical, no,” she said gently. Spock relaxed at her words, and T’Pau gained a satisfied smile. She rose slowly. “I believe we have stayed here long enough. Does thy mind feel peaceful enough to attempt sleep?” Spock nodded and stood as well. 

“Thank you, grandmother,” he said, bowing. He did not specify what for, but he knew T'Pau understood. _Everything. Thank you for everything._

Spock picked up his lyre and the two of them walked back to the house. T’Pau escorted him all the way to his room, where he set the instrument in its proper place and crawled under the covers. Spock could see T’Pau hovering at the door, and just before sleep claimed his consciousness, he heard her whisper, “I will miss thee as well, Spock.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally going to finish writing this whole thing and then post it, but my friend convinced me to post it as I go. This is my Camp NaNoWriMo project, and I've already got the whole thing outlined and planned out, so don't worry about it being abandoned. The word count will probably be somewhere between 50k and 100k, just fyi. It's a long boi.
> 
> I'm sorry if my characterization of Michael is off; I haven't watched Discovery yet. I also literally know nothing about Sybok except what's on his wiki which is why he's hardly included lol.
> 
> I'm not completely satisfied with the last two scenes in this chapter, so I might go back and edit them later. If you see anything hinky (spelling, grammar, etc) or something just doesn't make sense, feel free to tell me in the comments! If you find a plot hole or just want to talk about this universe, definitely hit me up because I have so many details that I'm not including. Seriously, I've overthought everything so much I probably have an answer for literally anything you could think of.
> 
> T'Pau's quote about running away is adapted from Miss Medda's quote in Newsies: "When you go somewhere and it turns out not to be the right place, you can always go somewhere else. But when you're running away, nowhere's never the right place."
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Leave a comment about what you thought and a Kudo if you liked it! (please i crave validation.) The next chapter will be from Jim's POV.


	2. Jim

“Mama, tell me a story.”

“What kind of story?”

“A story about Dad.” 

Winona sighed. A wistful look came into her eyes, but she smiled indulgently, if somewhat sadly. 

“Alright. Let me see…” she murmured. “When we were younger, your dad had this motorcycle,” she said with a smile. “He drove it everywhere, looking all cool with his leather jacket. Sometimes he’d put me on the back of the bike, even though he knew I hated it. It drove me crazy.” She shook her head fondly. Jim, curled up at her side, wrinkled his nose.

“Ew, gross! I don’t want that sappy stuff. I want a cool story, one with aliens!”

“Okay, okay,” Winona laughed. “How about the time your father and I were captured on Devon VIII?” Jim nodded eagerly and shifted into a more comfortable position on his bed. “So we were going to collect samples from this planet, right? Your dad and I were both on the away team, but the planet was uninhabited, so we weren’t expecting anything dangerous. 

“We were just wandering around together, when suddenly, bam!” Winona clapped her hands loudly and Jim jumped. “One minute I’m laughing with Dad,” she said as she stood up, scooping him off the bed, “the next we’re both hanging upside down!” She dangled Jim by his ankles as he shrieked, his small body shaking with laughter. “It turns out, the flora was semi-sentient and didn’t appreciate us taking clippings,” she chuckled, angling her body away from his flailing. 

Eventually Jim stopped wriggling and Winona set him back on the mattress. His face was still red. “How did you escape?” he asked breathlessly. 

“Well, my arms were all tied up, but your dad managed to grab his phaser,” she continued in a dramatic voice. “He shot the plant, but it was too big. I was sure we were toast, but then he got a smart idea.” She formed a gun with her fingers. “He aimed his phaser,” she said while pointing her finger gun at an imaginary plant monster, “and shot the tendrils that were holding us up, cutting them clean off! We made a run for it, and barely made it back to the ship in time.” Jim bounced up and down. 

“That was a good story! Will you tell me another?” he asked eagerly. Winona raised her eyebrows. 

“With Dad?” Jim considered for a moment, then shook his head. 

“No,” he said decisively. “Tell me a star story.” 

“Star stories” was the name Jim had given to Greek myths. Winona had told him the myth behind the constellation Orion a few months before, and from then on he had decided that all Greek myths, regardless of whether or not there were actually constellations based on them, were now star stories. 

“Do you see that ‘W’ in the sky over there?” Winona asked, pointing out the window. “That's Cassiopeia.”

“Cass-a-what-a?”

“Cassiopeia. She was the Queen of Ethiopia.” 

“What?” Jim squinted. “That doesn’t look like a person at all,” he complained. Not that most constellations looked realistic, he thought, but at least he could usually see some sort of resemblance. This one just looked like a letter of the alphabet. 

Winona shushed him. “Do you want to hear the story or not?” she scolded. Jim shut his mouth and mimed zipping his lips together. She nodded in approval. “Good. Now, Cassiopeia was a very beautiful woman, but she was also very vain. She boasted that she was more beautiful than the Nereids, the enchanting nymphs of the ocean.” At this point she took hold of Jim’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “Jim,” she said in mock seriousness, “you must never insult a god or goddess like this.” Jim stared back solemnly.

“Even if I really am prettier than them?” he asked. Winona nodded, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards ever so slightly. 

“Even if you’re prettier than them. The gods don’t take offenses like that very lightly.” She released Jim and booped him on the nose, causing him to scrunch it up.

“What happened next?” he asked.

“Well, Cassiopeia’s proclamation angered the nymphs. They were outraged that a mere mortal would say she was better than them. They pleaded with Poseidon, god of the oceans, to intervene and he sent a sea monster named Cetus to punish the queen.” Jim’s eyes grew wide. A sea monster! This was definitely the best part of the story. “Cetus ravaged the coasts of Cassiopeia’s kingdom until she finally begged for forgiveness. Poseidon said that the only way he would call off his monster would be if the queen sacrificed her daughter, Andromeda, to Cetus.”

Jim gasped. “No!”

“Yes. That’s why you should never anger the gods,” Winona said sagely. “Cassiopeia was distraught. She lamented the cost of her pride, but she had to save her kingdom. The next day, she chained Andromeda to a cliff for Cetus to devour.” 

“But she was saved, right?” Jim demanded. “She’s a damsel in distress. She has to be saved.” This was the way the world worked in Jim’s mind. The hero always saved the maiden and thwarted the villain. It was a simple system, one that worked well in his brain. Winona soothed his worries.

“Yes, she was saved by a hero named Perseus. He was on his way home from killing the Gorgon Medusa, so he brandished her head at the monster and turned it to stone.” Jim nodded his approval.

“Did they live happily ever after?” he asked. Winona made a so-so gesture.

“More or less. He freed Andromeda and they got married.”

“Good. Does An-drod-ma have a constellation, too?” Winona smiled at his pronunciation. 

“Yep. See?” she asked, tracing the outline with her finger through the glass. “Right there, under Cassiopeia. Cetus is also up there, you know. They say that instead of the seas, he’s swimming through the stars, ambushing unsuspecting starships.” Jim gasped. 

“Oh no! You gotta be careful up there, Mama!”

“You’re right, I do,” she agreed. “But don’t worry, I’ve got Perseus to protect me. He’s in the stars, too.” Jim was relieved. “The heroes always get constellations once they die.”

“Really?” Jim asked. “Does Dad have one?” Winona paused for a moment too long, then gave a tight smile. 

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. Jim’s brow furrowed.

“Then we gotta pick one out for him!” he exclaimed. Grabbing Winona’s arm, he tugged her until they were both standing. 

“Okay, kiddo, we’ll make him a constellation,” she conceded. Jim started analyzing the different stars and constellations, trying to find a good configuration for George Kirk. He spent a long while sorting this out, with occasional input from Winona. Finally, once he had decided exactly where his dad’s constellation would be, he flopped onto his bed. 

“Mama, one day I wanna go to space,” he said through a yawn. Winona, in the process of tucking the covers up around his chin, sighed. They'd had this conversation before, and he knew she was opposed to the idea. She brushed the hair from his forehead.

“I know, honey. But it’s dangerous up there,” she argued lightly. 

“But you go to space all the time,” Jim whined. “You and dad were space explorers—” Winona cut him off before he could continue. 

“And look where that got him,” she said bitterly. Jim was startled. He had never heard her speak of his dad’s death in that way before; it was a topic they tended to avoid. Winona sighed. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, “I didn’t mean to snap. I just want you to be safe, sweetheart.” Though she tried to hide it, her face was so downcast that Jim couldn’t help but loop his arms around her.

“I know, Mama,” he said into her neck. She hugged him back tightly.

“Besides,” Winona said as she broke the embrace, “if you go to space, a giant sea monster will gobble you up!” Her hands darted forward to Jim’s sides and he shrieked with laughter as she tickled him mercilessly. It took him five tries to slap her away. Finally, he settled back into bed, gasping for breath. Winona ruffled his hair and stood up.

“Goodnight, squirt. I love you.”

“Night, Mama. Love you too.”

* * *

Winona married Uncle Frank when Jim was ten years old. Yes, it was exactly as weird as it sounded, and no, Jim did not like it at all. 

The situation was this: George Samuel Kirk and Frank Joseph Kirk grew up on a small farm in Iowa. George met and later married the love of his life at Starfleet, and together they raised their son, George Samuel Kirk, Jr., in space. When George Sr. died on the day their second son was born, Winona took her children and moved in with Frank on the farm. Somewhere between then and now, Frank and Winona fell in love. 

Jim wasn’t sold on that last point. Call him childish, but Jim was a firm believer in true love. How could Winona say she loved his dad, then turn around and fall in love with someone else, much less her brother-in-law? Jim had never met his father, but he still felt betrayed on George’s behalf when Winona announced that she and Frank were engaged. If Jim ever fell in love with someone, he would never leave them, even if they died. In Jim’s opinion, Winona needed to sort out her priorities. 

It wasn’t that Frank was a bad person, per se. Sure, he could be a little nicer to his nephews—he didn’t seem to care very much what Jim and Sam did while Winona was away—but Jim chalked it up to him not having much experience with kids. It was all just so _weird_. They didn’t even go well together, Winona and Frank. They got along fine enough, but Jim could tell his mom still restrained herself most of the time. The only time she let herself go around Frank was when they thought the boys were asleep and they drowned their grief in alcohol. Otherwise, Winona kept her deeper emotions carefully hidden away. 

The wedding itself was a small affair. It was held in a nearby church, with about two dozen or so friends and acquaintances in attendance. Winona wasn’t particularly religious, but Frank liked the idea of being married in a church, so Jim carried the rings and Sam walked their mother down the aisle. Jim hated every second of it. 

The church was stuffy and overbearing, the people more so, and all Jim wanted to do was get out of there. Better yet, he wanted to call the whole thing off. His suit was itchy, his tie was too tight, and his mom was marrying his uncle. Something was clearly not right. 

After Winona and Frank said their vows (boring) and kissed (gross), the guests relocated to the farmhouse for a subdued reception. Despite his attempts to escape to his room, Jim was captured in a seemingly endless stream of idle small talk and comments of “you’ve gotten so big!” from people he didn’t remember meeting. It was exhausting, to say the least. 

That night, after the celebration finally wound down, Jim curled up in bed next to Sam. 

“I don’t want Frank to be our dad,” he whispered into the darkness. Sam took his hand in a tight grip. 

“He’s not,” he replied fiercely. “He never will be.” Jim admired his brother’s conviction, but it didn’t assuage his fears. What would happen when Winona inevitably left on another mission for Starfleet? What would Frank be like then? Would he act any different? Jim shook his head, trying to dispel those thoughts.

“Tell me again what it was like living on a spaceship,” he asked Sam in an attempt to distract himself. Sam rolled his eyes in amusement. Jim knew his brother hardly remembered living in space, but it was still one of his favorite things to listen to. 

“Well, there’s always people around,” Sam started. “Everywhere you go, no matter what time, you always run into someone in the halls. And you can get any food you want from the replicators, at any time you want.” Jim grinned, imagining all the junk food he could eat if he lived on a starship. 

“What about the planets?” he asked dreamily. He loved listening to Sam’s planet stories, even if he made half of them up. 

“I wasn’t allowed to go planet-side a lot,” Sam reminded Jim with a tweak of his nose, “since it was usually for missions and I was way too young.” His eyes lit up in a way that told Jim this was a true story. “But I remember this one time, Mom and Dad took me with them for shore leave on this amazing planet. Ninety percent of it was water, and the only land was located in these archipelagos.”

“What’s an archipelago?”

“It’s like this group of islands. There were a ton of beaches that you could relax on. And the islands were real close to each other, so you could take a boat between them.” Sam’s eyes were shining with nostalgia. “I remember Dad took me and Mom out in this tiny little rowboat. He put me on his shoulders and I could see the ocean stretching out in every direction, as far as I could see.” He sighed, mind obviously far away. “I think that was the first time I saw that much water in my life.” 

Jim sighed too. He wanted to do the things Sam had done, so much it _ached_. He wanted to visit strange planets and have adventures in space. He wanted to leave boring old Iowa. He wanted to have cool stories to tell. He wanted to meet his dad. 

He settled for the next best thing.

“What was Dad like?”

Sam blinked, pulled abruptly out of his memories. As he processed Jim’s question, his face morphed into that look everyone always got whenever Jim asked about George Kirk. It was a mix of sad and pitying; the ratios depended on the person. Finally, Sam seemed to come up with an answer. 

“He was strong,” Sam said. “Kind. He always played games with me and let me have a little extra ice cream for dessert.” Sam’s eyes were now distant. “His voice was really deep in the mornings. He grew a beard once but I made him shave it because it was too scratchy.” Sam chuckled, but it was tinged with melancholy. With a shake of his head, he ruffled Jim’s hair. “I wish you could’ve met him, Jimmy. You’d’ve loved him.”

Jim wished so too. All his life he’d lived in the shadow of his father. It would be nice to meet the man everyone expected him to be like. He put his arms around Sam. 

“That’s okay,” he said, voice muffled in Sam’s sleepshirt. “I’ve got you.”

Sam squeezed him back. “Yeah, Jimbo. You sure do. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

They fell asleep like that, curled around each other, two boys who only had themselves and one another.

* * *

Sam ran away when Jim was eleven. 

Three months after the wedding, Winona got her first long-term mission in over a decade. She had gone on missions for Starfleet in the interim after George’s death, but they had all been short, no longer than a few months. This assignment was set to be seven months long. 

Shortly after Winona left, Frank started to change. Before, he had been mostly dismissive of Jim and Sam whenever he was left alone with them. The most interaction they’d have would be a shout of “Quiet down up there!” if the boys were getting too rowdy. Now, though, Frank seemed to get angry at the drop of a hat. His baseline was “mildly irritated”, which frequently escalated to “angry shouting” if they dared to disturb him. It was as if he found their mere presence annoying. 

Jim tried his hardest to be obedient. He knew Frank was probably missing Winona; hell, Jim missed her too. He was simply venting his frustration at her absence through the most convenient outlet. Said outlet just so happened to be the Kirk brothers. It was a crappy thing to do, but it would be over soon. Jim just had to stay out of trouble till his mom came back. 

Winona returned seven months later and everything went back to normal, for the most part. Jim studied hard, Sam was a moody teenager, Frank acted like nothing had happened. They were ostensibly a happy “family” once more. 

Then Winona got sent out again. This time, her assignment was a year-long mission into deep space, which meant that calls were unlikely to go through. Jim, Sam, and Frank were alone together. 

At first, it wasn’t so bad. Jim held out hope that last time had been an isolated occurrence, that they would all stay out of each other’s way. His hope was shattered when Sam started acting out. 

If Frank had been angry before, he was now downright furious at Sam’s flippant responses and general disregard of orders. Jim tried to talk some sense into Sam, but was only met with, “How can you take this lying down?” from his brother.

It all came to a head on a sunny day in the middle of July. This day started out like many others. Jim woke up and made breakfast. Frank lumbered in and made a plate to take to the living room. Sam and Jim ate at the kitchen table while the TV blared in the background. 

As the boys were cleaning their plates, Frank entered the kitchen. 

“Hey, twerp,” he said. “I need you to wash the car today.” The car in question was the Corvette out front, and the “twerp” was Jim. “I want it done pronto, okay? No goofing off.” Jim nodded mutely. Frank then turned to Sam, his expression darkening. “You. I want you to clean up all the junk in the yard. No arguments.” 

Sam tilted his head, challenging. “But what if I don’t want to?” he asked spitefully. Frank growled. 

“You’ll do it whether you like it or not, brat.”

“No,” said Sam defiantly. “You can’t tell me what to do.” He held eye contact with Frank, who glared. 

“The hell I can’t. As long as you live under my roof, you follow my orders.” The words were accompanied by a jab of his finger, which did nothing to deter Sam. If anything, the boy looked even more enraged at the statement. 

“That’s bullshit,” he spat out. Frank took a step forward, looming over Sam. Jim cowered a few paces behind him, shielded by his brother.

“You watch your mouth, kid,” Frank reprimanded sharply. Jim saw Sam’s fists clench in anger. His whole body was shaking slightly. He raised his voice.

“God, you’re so full of yourself. You—” Sam cut himself off, letting loose a short yell of frustration before storming past Frank and up the stairs. Jim didn’t have to see his face to know his eyes were flashing with anger. 

Both Jim and Frank turned to watch Sam thunder upstairs. Mere moments later, before Frank had time to turn back to his other victim, Sam returned carrying a backpack. 

Jim’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. That wasn’t his normal school backpack. Jim had never seen the bag before, but somehow, deep in his gut, he knew it was filled with essentials and provisions. Sam was running away. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Frank snarled as Sam stomped towards the door. He moved to intercept him. 

“I’m getting out of here.” The words were said with all the vitriol of a rebellious fifteen-year-old. Frank sneered. 

“Oh, look, little Sammy’s running away from problems,” he taunted. As Sam tried to push past him to get to the door, Frank grabbed his arm in a vice grip. He leaned forward. “You can’t run forever, boy,” he threatened darkly. Sam stared him down. 

“Watch me.”

Frank narrowed his eyes. “Oh yeah?” he scoffed. “And how will you survive out there? You’re useless.”

Sam flinched a bit at the insult, words like bullets grazing his skin. He stood taller, trying to act like he was unaffected. “I’ll figure something out,” he assured with false confidence. His gaze turned resentful. “At least I’ll be away from _you_.” On the last word, Sam did something Jim would never forget. He spit in Frank’s face. 

The effect was immediate. Frank released Sam’s arm to wipe at his face, cursing, and Sam scampered away. When Frank’s arm lowered, Jim could see the terrifying mask of fury adorning his face. He snarled. 

“You know what, get the hell outta the house!” Frank yelled. He advanced to where Sam had opened the door. “When your mom comes back, she can deal with you.” The door slammed behind them as Sam stalked into the driveway, Frank following after and still shouting. “Go ahead, go! Run away! You think I give a damn?” He was practically spitting in his rage.

Jim was hot on their heels, brimming with thoughts but unable to express any of them. _Don’t go. Be careful. Stop provoking him. What will Mom think? Don’t go. Take me with you._

What came out was a desperate, “Where are you going?”

Sam barely paused in his stride. “Far as I can get.”

“Which won’t be far enough,” Frank spat. “This is _my_ house. Not yours, not your mother’s.” He turned on Jim suddenly, seething. “What do you _want_ , Jimmy?”

Jim withered at the pure contempt in those words. All the words bubbling up in his throat died, leaving him bare with no defenses. All that was left was a little boy, scared of losing his world. 

“I just don’t want my brother to go,” he said meekly. _That’s a lie,_ his brain told him. _You want to go with him._

“Well, what you want doesn’t matter,” Frank sneered. “You’re _no one_.” Jim recoiled at the harsh words. “And I asked you,” Frank said menacingly, enunciating each word, “to wash the car. How many damn times do I need to repeat myself?” He turned to Sam. “ _Go_.” 

The boys watched in silence as Frank stomped back into the house. After a long moment, Jim turned to his brother.

“Please stay,” he pleaded, but what he meant was _please take me with you._ Sam shook his head.

“I can’t take Uncle Frank anymore,” he exclaimed. “Mom has no idea what he’s like when she’s not around. Do you hear him talking like he’s our dad?” He gestured to the door Frank had just disappeared through, then to the Corvette sitting innocently in the driveway. “And that’s not even his car you’re washing, that’s Dad’s car,” Sam accused. 

He started walking down the road and Jim jogged to catch up. 

“You’re gonna be okay, you always are,” Sam tried to reassure him. “Always doing everything right. Good grades, obeying every stupid order.” He sighed bitterly, then turned to Jim. “I can’t be a Kirk in this house,” he explained in frustration. “Show me how to do that and I’ll stay.”

His demand made, Sam waited. Jim stayed silent. Though it stung, he knew Sam was right. They weren’t free in this household; they couldn’t be themselves. When the silence had stretched on for too long, Sam gave a short, resigned sigh. 

“I’ll see you,” he said to Jim, then trudged down the road. Jim watched his slowly receding figure, heart breaking. 

When he could take it no longer, Jim turned back to the house, to Frank and his rules and orders. As he retrieved the cleaning supplies from the shed, he thought about the injustice of it all.

 _It isn’t fair,_ Jim thought as he dipped a sponge in the water and smacked it against the car door. _It isn’t fair that I have to stay here while Sam runs away._

A different voice popped up in the back of his head. _You could go, too,_ it said. _You could run away with him, if you weren’t such a coward._ The voice sounded suspiciously like Uncle Frank. 

As he continued to wash the car, Jim stewed, his anger slowly rising. Why did Sam have to go? Better yet, why was Frank such a monumental _jerk_? Why couldn’t Jim work up the courage to stand up to him like Sam did? Why was he such a _fucking wimp_?

Jim crawled into the front seat to clean the interior, slamming the door in the process. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t realize as he opened the sun visor something falling into his lap. It was the keys to the Corvette. 

An idea formed in Jim’s mind. It was crazy, and it would probably get him grounded for a month, but Jim suddenly found that he didn’t care. Screw the consequences, and screw Uncle Frank. 

With a jangle, he stuck the keys in the ignition. The engine rumbled and Jim gripped the steering wheel. With a squeal of tires, he tore out of the driveway. 

Barely a minute later, a call lit up the car’s screen. Jim accepted it and Frank’s furious voice filled the air. 

“Are you outta your mind?” he hissed. “That car is an antique. You think you can get away with this just ‘cause your mother’s off-planet?” Jim barely paid attention to Frank’s ranting. “You get your ass back home, now,” Frank ordered. “You live in my house, buddy. You live in my house, and that’s _my car._ You get one scratch on that car, I’m gonna whip your a—”

With a fire burning in his heart, Jim hung up. He felt like he was flying. The wind hit his face like a new beginning, ripping away his worries and leaving him with a clean slate. As he lowered the convertible roof, the breeze caught it and tore it off, leaving it fluttering behind him along with all of Jim’s problems. He gave a yell of exhilaration. 

A figure appeared in the distance. It was Sam, still trekking down the road. Jim honked the horn and waved as he passed by. 

“Hey Sammy!” he yelled. Sam looked stunned at the image of Jim in the driver’s seat of the Corvette, racing past recklessly. _How’s that for being a Kirk?_ Jim thought vindictively.

Sam’s form quickly faded in the rearview mirror, but Jim kept going. If he drove fast enough, maybe he could leave his whole life behind, Frank and Sam and Iowa and Earth. A siren started behind him, but it only spurred him on. He careened around a bend, a boy with something to prove.

As he flew through the air, for the first time in his life, Jim felt free. 

* * *

Birthdays had never been a cause for celebration in the Kirk household. This was mostly due to the circumstances of Jim’s birth, and the tragedy that accompanied it. 

For Winona and Frank, Jim’s birthday was a day of mourning. It was a day filled to the brim with silence, every step made carefully in an attempt to avoid the things left unsaid. It was a day that tried so hard to be normal, the only thing noticeable about it was just how abnormal it was. It was a day of fake smiles and hidden tears. 

Sam was the only one who ever acted normal. He had given up his own birthday parties so Jim wouldn't feel left out, for which Jim was eternally grateful, and he never tiptoed around the nature of the day. Whenever Jim came to him because Winona couldn’t look at his face without crying, Sam would tell him stories about their father. It reassured Jim that someone looked at him and didn’t see the ghost of George Kirk. 

Sam was gone, though. He had managed to evade all of Winona’s attempts to locate him, and within a few weeks he had disappeared without a trace. Jim was truly alone. 

Jim’s twelfth birthday passed in much the same manner as his previous ones, made distinct only by the conspicuous absence of Sam’s comforting chatter. As usual, Winona refused to look him in the eye and Frank glared at him more often than normal. Jim knew they saw him as a constant reminder of their loss, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Just after dinner, Jim received a comm that simply read, _happy birthday, jimmy_. There was no sender listed, but Jim knew it was from Sam. It was the closest thing to a gift he had gotten, and he saved it carefully as a reminder that his brother was safe. He didn’t tell Winona. 

The next year passed in a monotonous blur. Winona left again; Jim stayed. He often thought about running away, about following Sam into the stars. It was ever so tempting, but something stopped him every time. His mother’s face always popped into his head; her devastation upon learning that Sam had run, her frantic search to bring him home, her misery when she came up empty handed. Jim couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t make her lose another child. 

So Jim stayed. Every day, his hatred and fear of Frank grew in equal parts, until his every waking moment was filled with daydreams of escape and freedom, but he stayed. 

Jim expected his thirteenth birthday to be the same as all the others. In many ways it was; Frank and Jim avoided each other at all costs, and Winona was off-world so they had even less contact than usual. Jim received another birthday message from an anonymous sender, which brightened his day considerably, but all in all it was relatively routine until evening rolled around. 

By the time Winona’s image popped up on the PADD screen, the moon was high in the sky. Her face was drawn, the prominent wrinkles lining it on display. Her eyes were tired and slightly red, but she was smiling. Jim smiled back.

“Hey, honey,” she sighed. “Sorry it took so long to call. There was a red alert today and it’s been a bit hectic.” She ran a distracted hand through her hair. “How was your day?”

“It was good,” Jim replied. “School was boring, but the chess club met today. I stayed there for a while after school since Frank—” He stopped. Mentioning Frank almost always led to an argument these days, as Jim inevitably complained and Winona told him to stop being so dramatic. He decided it was better not to tell her how Frank had forgotten to pick him up that afternoon. “Nevermind. What was the red alert for?”

It was a transparent attempt to change the subject, but Winona took it gladly. She talked about the run-in with a Klingon Warbird they’d had, and the impressive stunts the captain had to pull to avoid being destroyed. It almost felt like old times, when she would lull Jim to sleep with stories of space and heroic deeds. Eventually her voice petered out and she cleared her throat uncomfortably.

“So,” she stated. “It’s your birthday.”

Jim blinked. She had never acknowledged it so bluntly before. 

“Yeah…” he answered uncertainly. Winona sighed.

“I know we don’t normally do this kind of thing,” she said haltingly, “but I have a gift for you.”

Jim felt his surprise double. “Really?” he asked curiously. “What is it?”

“You know the Tarsus colonies?”

“One through six, right?” he confirmed absently, mind elsewhere. Jim tried to think of what she could have possibly gotten him from the Tarsus colonies. III was a mining colony, he was pretty sure, so maybe something with a rare metal? VI was also some kind of hub, but Jim couldn’t recall what for. Before he could continue his pondering, Winona interrupted in a deceptively casual voice. 

“I hear IV is awfully nice during the summer.”

It took Jim a second to process her words, and another minute to comprehend what she was actually saying. When he did, an incredulous grin slowly spread across his face.

“No,” he said in disbelief. “Are you serious?” 

Winona nodded, smiling with him. 

“My assignment ends in three months, so I was thinking I could meet you there.”

Jim was silent for a few seconds, trying to wrap his head around what was happening. 

“Oh my God,” he muttered, voice filled with wonder. “Oh my God! I’m going to space!” 

The reality of the situation finally hit him, and he jumped up, dancing around his room in excitement. He whooped in delight, chanting, “I’m going to space! I’m going to space!” Jim could hear Winona chuckling from where he had thrown the PADD on his bed. A muffled thump broke through his glee.

“Shut up!” Frank’s voice echoed from downstairs. “I’m tryna sleep.”

Jim dropped to the bed, his enthusiasm dampened by the harsh reminder.

“Is Frank coming with us?” he asked with distaste, picking up the PADD again. Winona averted her eyes.

“I was thinking it could just be the two of us,” she replied carefully. “You know, have some mother-son bonding time.”

Jim perked up a little, energy restored at the prospect of spending time with his mother, away from Frank. Away from Earth!

“So when do I leave?” he asked eagerly, mindful of his volume. 

“As soon as school gets out. You’ll be alone for a few weeks before I get there, but I have a feeling you won’t have any trouble with that.” Winona snorted. “Or rather, you’ll get into plenty of trouble.”

Jim couldn’t stop smiling. He was going to spend the summer on Tarsus IV! Not only that, he would be alone with his mom there. This was better than any birthday gift he could have imagined.

“Thank you, Mom,” Jim said sincerely. “Really.” The words couldn’t convey the magnitude of his feelings, but from the gentle smile on Winona’s face, she understood it regardless. 

“You’re welcome, honey,” she said softly. “Now get some sleep. I’ll try to call again tomorrow.”

Jim bid her goodnight and clicked off the call, but his buzzing thoughts prevented sleep from claiming him. When he finally did fall into the sweet embrace of Morpheus, his dreams were filled with abstract images of a colony far, far away.

The next couple of months were agonizing. It was like presenting a dog a treat, then holding it just out of reach. Every day, Jim went to school, came home, and did his chores like usual, but his mind couldn’t be farther away. His impending getaway was all he could think about. 

Finally, the day came. Checking his suitcase one last time, Jim threw it in the back of the hovercar and prepared himself for a painful few hours trapped in close quarters with Frank. Due to its distance, the process of reaching Tarsus IV was rather convoluted, and as such the most direct route originated at the Minneapolis spaceport. This meant that Jim was stuck in a car with Frank for at least a few hours, maybe more, in order to reach Minnesota. Jim consoled himself with the fact that it would be the last he’d have to see of Frank for a good month, maybe longer. 

Their parting was unceremonious. Frank, who had been gruff and ill-tempered ever since he had learned he wouldn’t be accompanying Jim and Winona, merely offered a nod and a grunt before turning away. Jim, for his part, gave even less acknowledgement before facing the magnificent ship above him. 

The cruiser was a thing of beauty, able to accommodate a few hundred people comfortably. Built for long journeys, its route was similar in design to an old Earthen train line. It ran in a large loop around the galaxy, stopping periodically on various planets and satellites to pick up and drop off passengers. In the approximately eighteen hours it would take to reach the transfer point for the Tarsus colonies, Jim would reside in a cabin all to himself and have access to dining and recreational rooms. It was certainly not a bad way to travel. 

Jim fished out his ticket information and interplanetary passport, hands practically shaking from excitement. He tried not to let it show as he was ushered through the checking process and onto the shuttle that would take him to the cruiser. If anyone found an unaccompanied thirteen year old boy grinning like a lunatic suspicious, no one mentioned it. 

Once alone in his room, Jim attempted to compose himself. He took a few deep breaths and gazed out the window, where he could see people preparing for takeoff. This did nothing to quell his excitement, or his anxiety. He sat on his cot and waited in anticipation. 

Jim’s first glimpse of space from above Earthen soil was mesmerizing. Blue slowly faded into black, and as the ship shifted its course, tiny stars started appearing in his field of vision. Jim tried in vain to identify familiar constellations he knew would be unrecognizable on the other side of the galaxy. Soon, though, they were nothing but bright streaks as the ship’s warp factor slowly increased. 

Jim spent the first few hours alternating between staring out the window and scrolling through articles on his PADD. He fell into a comfortable routine, broken only by brief trips to the dining hall and their arrival at the next stop, a space station orbiting the planet Mariba. 

By the fourth or fifth stop, though, Jim was ready for something new. He left his cabin and prowled around a bit, eventually heading for the information museum. Each destination on their journey had a spot in the room, with a hologram of the planet or station and a holo-archive of helpful information on population, climate, places of interest, culture, and much more available. Jim headed straight for the display of Tarsus IV. 

There was only one other person at the Tarsus projections, a boy quite a few years Jim’s senior. He looked to be maybe sixteen or seventeen, and was scrolling through the history of the colony. He said nothing when Jim took a place beside him and opened the file on weather, only glancing briefly before turning back to his own reading. After a few minutes, Jim decided to strike up a conversation. 

“You headed for Tarsus, too?”

The boy looked at Jim, silently appraising him. After a long moment, he nodded his head.

“Yeah, I’m staying with my grandma there,” he said. “You?”

Jim smiled triumphantly to himself at successfully engaging with this stranger. He replied, “I’m meeting up with my mom in a few weeks.” 

The boy gave him another searching look, seemingly sizing up the random kid who was trying to befriend him. He considered Jim’s bright smile and his short stature with a scrutinizing eye. Finally, he held out his hand. 

“Thomas Leighton.”

If possible, Jim’s grin became even wider. He grasped the proffered hand. 

“James Kirk.”

They regarded each other as they shook hands. Tentatively, Thomas returned Jim’s smile. 

“Have you ever been to Tarsus before?” he asked. Jim shook his head.

“Nope,” he admitted, scratching behind his ear. “This is actually my first time in space.”

Thomas looked surprised. “Really?” he asked, blinking. “How’s it been so far?”

Jim’s eyes brightened. “Totally awesome,” he said emphatically. “The view from my window is incredible.” Thomas sighed wistfully.

“Man, I wish I could see it with fresh eyes,” he said forlornly. “My parents take me to Tarsus every summer, and the novelty has definitely worn off by now.”

Privately, Jim didn’t think the boundless expanse of space would ever lose its beauty to him, but he nodded along anyway. “I’ve always loved looking at the stars.”

Thomas grinned suddenly. “You haven’t even seen the best of it yet,” he declared. “C’mon, follow me.”

Jim followed his new friend to a small room hidden away from the main corridors. Inside, a large window stretched from floor to ceiling, offering an entire wall of stars. Jim gasped quietly, awestruck.

After a few more moments of gaping, Jim sat down heavily on the floor. It was wonderful, quite possibly the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He was overwhelmed. Thomas gave him a knowing smile and sat down as well. 

They spent the rest of the evening like that, staring out at the tiny flecks of light flitting by. Sometimes they talked, getting to know each other through mundane questions and fun stories. Sometimes they just sat in silence. 

The entire time, Jim was internally glowing. He felt like he was floating, like someone had switched off the gravity controls and he was buoyed by happiness. He basked in the feeling, reveling in its foreign presence. 

It took a while for Jim to figure out the origin of his elation, but eventually he managed to pinpoint it. 

For the first time since Sam ran away, Jim had a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter gave me a lot of trouble, but I hope you enjoyed it! Tell me what you liked or what I could improve upon in the comments. Kudos are also greatly appreciated : )
> 
> I want to tentatively set an update schedule of every three weeks on Fridays, but I'm worried I won't be able to stick to it once school starts. I'm also not good at writing at a consistent pace, I just write whenever the Creative Mood hits and then don't touch it for ages so deadlines are hard.
> 
> Listen I know the car scene is overused in fics but I couldn't help myself. The bit right before it, from "Get the hell outta the house" to finding the keys, is a deleted scene that I stole the dialogue from. Originally in the movie, it was supposed to be Sam that Jim called out to as he drove past, but after they cut the scene where Sam ran away (and therefore his whole character), they changed Jim's lines so he said "Hey Johnny!" instead. I went with the first version, and added a bit more before that. 
> 
> I'm also trying to portray Frank and Winona as complex characters, rather than single-faceted people the way I've seen them in some fics before. I'll try to explore them more in the future, but if there's anything you feel the need to point out about them (or anyone else), please do so. This especially applies to the aspects of verbal abuse that Jim endures. I want to make sure I'm being sensitive and realistic about it.


End file.
